50 Shades Of Davies
by fiestyfirefly
Summary: Basically, I've been reading 50 Shades of Grey by E.L. James and thought how hot would it be if it was set in spashley land. If any of you have read the book you know what to expect, those who have not... well your in for a ride. Spencer is a 21 year old student sent at short notice to interview Ashley Davies a wealthy entreprenuer. Spencer's life is about to change...
1. Chapter 1

50 Shades of Davies

Chapter 1 – Part 1 – Spencer Carlin

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair- it just won't behave, and damn Madison Duarte for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. _I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet._ Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, blonde-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi-presentable.

Madison is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she'd arranged to do, with some mega-business tycoon I've never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered. I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I'm supposed to be working this afternoon, but no – today I have to drive a hundred and twenty-five miles to L.A in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Davies Enterprises Inc. As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our university, her time is extraordinarily precious – much more precious than mine – but she has granted Madison an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her extracurricular activities.

Madison is huddled on the couch in the living room.

"Spence, I'm sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we'll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can't blow this off. Please," Madison begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, long brown hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

"Of course I'll go, Maddy. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?"

"Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all."

"I know nothing about her," I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my ringing panic.

"The questions will see you through. Go. It's a long drive. I don't want you to be late."

"Okay, I'm going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later." I stare at her fondly. _Only for you, Maddy, would I do this. _

"I will. Good luck. And thanks, Spencer – as usual, you're my lifesaver."

Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Madison talk me into this. But then Madison could talk anyone into anything. She'll make an exceptional journalist. She's articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful – and she's my dearest, dearest friend.

The roads are clear as I set off from San Diego toward L.A. It's early, and I don't have to be in L.A until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Maddy's lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. I'm not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.

My destination is the headquarters of Ms Davies's global enterprise. It's a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with Davies House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It's a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieve that I'm not late as I walk into the enormous – and frankly intimidating – glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, brunette young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

"I'm her to see Ms Davies. Spencer Carlin for Madison Duarte."

"Excuse me one moment, Miss Carlin." She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I'd borrowed one of Madison's formal blazers rather than wear my navy blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length boots and a blue sweater. For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I present she doesn't intimidate me.

"Miss Duarte is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Carlin. You'll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor." She smiles kindly at me amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help my smirk. Surely it's obvious that I'm just visiting. I don't fit in here at all._ Nothing changes,_ I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevator past two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I'm in another large lobby – again all glass, steel and white sandstone. I'm confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young brunette woman dressed impeccable in black and white that rises to greet me.

"Miss Carlin, could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of white leather chairs. Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the L.A skyline that looks out through the city. It's a stunning vista, and I'm momentarily paralyzed by the view. _Wow._

I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them, inwardly cursing Maddy for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this woman I'm about to interview. She could be ninety or she could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting, twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. _Get a grip, Carlin._ Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Davies is in her forties: fit, tanned, and dark-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed brunette comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate brunettes? It's like dark-haired Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

"Miss Carling?" the latest brunette asks.

"Yes," I croak, and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounded more confident.

"Ms Davies will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"

"Oh please." I struggle out of the jacket.

"Have you been offered any refreshment?"

"Um-no." Oh dear, is Brunette Number One in trouble?

Brunette Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" she asks, turning her attention back to me.

"A glass of water. Thank you," I murmur.

"Olivia, please fetch Miss Carling a glass of water." Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

"My apologies, Miss Carlin, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Ms Davies will be another five minutes."

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

"Here you go, Miss Carlin."

"Thank you."

Brunette Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continued their work.

Perhaps Ms Davies insists on all her employees being brunette. I'm wondering idly if that's legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive dark haired man exits. I have definitely word the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door. "Golf, this week, Davies."

I don't hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She's more nervous than me!

"Good afternoon, ladies," he says as he departs through the sliding door.

"Ms Davies will see you now, Miss Carling. Do go through," Brunette Number Two says. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

"You don't need to knock – just go in." She smiles kindly.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2

50 Shades of Davie Chapter 1 – Part 2

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office. Double crap – me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Ms Davies office, and gentle hands are around me helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. I have to steel myself to glance up. Holy cow – she's so young.

"Miss Duarte." She extends a perfectly manicured had to me once I'm upright. "I'm Ashley Davies. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?"

So young - and attractive, very attractive. She's not very tall, but slim and evident from the way her clothes cling to her body she definitely works out. She's dressed in a grey pencil skirt, white blouse and a lose black tie around her neck. The ensemble would look odd on most but she looks like she's just walked off a catwalk somewhere. This outfit along with straight dark copper colored hair and intense bright green eyes momentarily still my voice in my throat.

"Um. Actually" I finally mutter. If this woman is over thirty then I'm a monkey's uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in hers and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate.

"Miss Duarte is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Ms Davies."

"And you are?" Her voice is warm, possibly amused, but its difficult to tell from her impassive expression. She looks mildly interested but above all, polite.

"Spencer Carlin. I'm studying English Literature with Maddy, um… Madison… Um Miss Duarte at USF."

"I see," She says simply. I think I see the ghost of smile in her expression, but I'm not sure. "Would you like to sit?" She waves me toward a white leather-buttoned L-shaped couch.

Her office is way too big for just one woman. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white - ceiling, floors and walls, except on the wall by the door where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite - a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

"A local artist. Chelsea Lewis," says Davies when she catches my gaze.

"They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," I murmur distracted both by her and the paintings. She cocks her head to one side and regards me intently.

"I couldn't agree more with you Miss Carlin," she replies, her voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Goddess who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Maddy's questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Ms Davies says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at her, she's watching me, one hand relaxed in her lap and the other cupping her chin and trailing her polished index finger across her lips. I think she's trying to suppress a smile.

"Sorry," I stutter. "I'm not used to this."

"Take all the time you need, Miss Carlin," she says.

"Do you mind if I record your answers?" mumbles hesitantly from my voice. What if she says no?

"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder – you ask me now?"

I flush. She's teasing me? I hope. I blink at her, unsure what to say, and I think she takes pity on me because she relents. "No I don't mind."

"Did Maddy, I mean, Miss Duarte, explain what the interview was for?" I ask

"Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony."

_Oh! _This is news to me, and I'm temporarily preoccupied by the though that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe 4 years or so, and okay, mega-successful, but still – is going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.

"Good," I swallow nervously. "I have some questions, Ms. Davies." I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"I thought you might," she says, deadpan. She's laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" I glance up at her. Her smile is rueful, but she looks vaguely disappointed.

"Business is all about people, Miss Carlin, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team and I reward them well." She pauses and fixes me with her stare. "My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decision based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it's always down to good people."

"Maybe you're just lucky." This isn't on Maddy's list – but she's so arrogant. Her eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

"I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Carlin. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said 'the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership."

"You sound like a control freak." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Carlin," she says without a trace of humour in her smile. I look at her, and she holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.


	3. Chapter 1 Part 3

50 Shades of Davies

Chapter 1 – Part 3

Why does she have such an unnerving effect on me? Her overwhelming good looks maybe? The way her eyes blaze at me? The way she strokes her index finger against her lower lip? I wish she's stop doing that.

"Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things," she continues, her voice soft.

"Do you feel that you have immense power?" _Control Freak_.

"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Carlin. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so."

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by her lack of humility.

"Don't you have a board to answer to?" I ask, disgusted.

"I own my company, I don't have to answer to a board." she raises an eyebrow at me. I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, she's so arrogant. I change tack.

"And do you have any interests outside your work?" I'm probing.

"I have varied interests, Miss Carlin." A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Very varied."

And for some reason, I'm confounded and heated by her steady gaze. Her eyes are alight with some wicked thought. "But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?"

"Chill out?" She smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. She really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.

"Well, to 'chill out' as you put it – I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits." She shifts in her chair and leans forward. "I've a very wealthy woman, Miss Carlin, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies."

I glance quickly at Maddy's questions, wanting to get off this subject.

"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" I ask. Why does she make me so uncomfortable?

"I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?"

"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts."

Her mouth quirks up, and she stars appraisingly at me. "Possibly. Though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."

"Why would they say that?" I'm genuinely intrigued.

"Because they know me well." Her lips curl in a wry smile.

"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?" I regret the question as soon as I say it. It's not on Maddy's list.

"I'm a very private person Miss Carlin. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don't often give interviews," she trails off.

"Why did you agree to do this one?"

"Because I'm a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn't get Miss Duarte off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity."

I know how tenacious Maddy can be. That's why I'm sitting here squirming uncomfortably under her penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams.

"You invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?"

"We can't eat money, Miss Carlin, and there are too many people on this planet who don't have enough to eat."

"That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world's poor?"

She shrugs, very noncommittal.

"Its shrewd business," she murmurs, though I think she's being disingenuous. It doesn't make sense – feeding the world's poor? I can't see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by her attitude.

"Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?"

"I don't have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle – Carnegie's: 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' I've very singular, driven. I like control – of Myself and those around me."

"So you want to possess things?" _You are a control freak._

"I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do."


	4. Chapter 1 Part 4

50 Shades of Davies Chapter 1 Part 4

"You sound like the ultimate consumer."

"I am" She smiles, but the smiled doesn't touch her eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can't help thinking that we're talking about something else, but I'm absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it's just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Maddy has enough material now? I glance at the next question.

"You were adopted. How far do you think that's shaped the way you are?" Oh, this is personal. I stare at her, hoping she's not offended. Her brow furrows.

"I have no way of knowing."

My interest is piqued.

"How old were you when you were adopted?"

"That's a matter of public record, Miss Carlin." Her tone is stern. I flush, again. _Crap. _Yes of course – if I'd known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly

"You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work."

"That's not a question." She's terse.

"Sorry." I squirm, and she's made me feel like an errant child. I try again. "Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?"

"I have a family. I have a brother and sister and two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that."

"Are you gay, Miss Davies?"

She inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. _Crap_. Why didn't I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell her I'm just reading the questions? Damn Maddy and her curiosity!

"Yes Spencer, I am." She raises her eyebrows, a cool gleam in her eyes. She does not look pleased.

"I apologise. It's um… written here." It's the first time she's said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

She cocks her head to one side. "These aren't your questions?"

The blood drains from my head. _Oh no. _"Err… no Maddy – Miss Duarte – she compiled the questions."

"Are you colleagues on the student paper?" _Oh crap_. I have nothing to do with the student paper. It's her extracurricular activity, not mind. My face is aflame.

"No. She's my roommate."

She rubs her chin in quiet deliberation, her brown eyes appraising me.

"Did you volunteer to do this interview?" she asks her voice deadly quite.

Hang on, who's supposed to be interviewing whom? Her eyes burn into me, and I'm compelled to answer with the truth.

"I was drafted. She's not well." My voice is weak and apologetic.

"That explains a great deal."

There's a knock at the door, and Brunette Number Two enters.

"Ms Davies, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."

"We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting."

Andrea hesitates, gaping at her. She appears lost. Ms Davies turns her head slowly to face her and raises her eyebrows. Andrea flushes bright pink. _Oh good. It's not just me_.

"Very well, Ms Davies," she mutters, then exits. Ms Davies frowns and turns her attention back to me.

"Where were we, Miss Carlin?"

_Oh, we're back to 'Miss Carlin' now._

"Please don't let me keep you from anything."

"I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." Her brown eyes are alight with curiosity. _Double crap_._ Where's she going with this? _She places her elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples her fingers in front of her mouth. Her mouth is very distracting. I swallow.

"There's not much to know," I say, flushing again.

"What are your plans after you graduate?" I shrug, thrown by her interest. _Come to L.A with Kate, find a place, find a job. _I haven't really thought beyond my finals.

"I haven't made any plans, Ms Davies. I just need to get through my final exams." Which I should be studying for now, rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze.

"We run an excellent internship program here," she says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is she offering me a job?

"Oh. I'll bear that in mind," I murmur, completely confounded. "Though I'm not sure I'd fit in here." Oh no. I'm musing out loud again.

"Why do you say that?" She cocks her head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" _I'm uncoordinated, scruffy, and I'm not brunette._

"Not to me," she murmurs. Her gaze is intense, all humour gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clean suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. _What's going on?_ I have to go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

"Would you like me to show you around?" she asks.

"I'm sure you're far too busy, Ms Davies, and I do have a long drive."

"You're driving back to San Francisco?" She sounds surprised, anxious even. She glances out of the window. It's begun to rain.

"Well, you'd better drive carefully." Her tone is stern and authorities. Why should she care? "Did you get everything you need?" she adds.

"Yes Ms Davies," I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. Her eyes narrow, speculatively.

"Thank you for the interview, Ms Davies."

"The pleasure's been all mind," she says as polite as ever.

As I rise, she stands and holds out her hand.

"Until we meet again, Miss Carlin" And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I'm not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake her hand once more, astounded that the odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

"Ms. Davies." I nod at her. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, she opens it wide.

"Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Carlin." She gives me a small smile. Obviously, she's referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into her office. I flush.

"That's very considerate, Ms Davies," I snap, and her smile widens. _I'm glad you find me entertaining,_ I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I'm surprised when she follows me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

"Did you have a coat?" Davies asks.

"Yes." Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Davies takes from her before she can hand it to me. She holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on. Davies places her hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If she notices my reaction, she gives nothing away.

Her polished index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on hers. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. _I really need to get out of her_. When I turn to look at her, she's leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. She really is very, very beautiful. It's distracting. Her burning brown eyes gaze at me.

"Spencer," she says as a farewell.

"Ashley," I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.


	5. Chapter 2 Part 1

**Hi guys, Sorry I've been slow updating. Just started a new J.O.B so been very busy but I've got a few chapters ready to go so hoping to have atleast 3 up by this weekend. Enjoy and thanks for the reviews.. keeps me motivated! Any way enjoy...muchos love. xXx**

50 Shades Of Davies – Chapter 2 Part 1

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I'm free in the hot air of L.A. Raising my face, I welcome the dry air. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what's left of my equilibrium.

No woman has ever affected me the way Ashley Davies has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it her looks? Her civility? Wealth? Power? I don't understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven's name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breath normally again. I head for the car.

As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I'm overreacting to something that's imaginary. Okay, so she's very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with herself – but on the flip side, she's arrogant, and for all her impeccable manners, she's autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. She may be arrogant, but then she has a right to be – she's accomplished so much at such a young age. She doesn't suffer fools gladly, but why should she? Again, I'm irritated that Maddy didn't give me a brief biography.

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I'm truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driving to succeed. Some of her answers were so cryptic – as if she has a hidden agenda. And Maddy's questions – ugh! The adoption and asking her if she was gay! I shudder. I can't believe I said that. _Ground, swallow me up now!_ Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Madison Duarte!

I check the speedometer. I'm driving more cautiously that I would on any other occasion. And I know it's the memory of two penetrating brown eyes gasing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realise that Davies's more like a woman double her age.

_Forget it, Spencer,_ I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it's been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn't dwell on it. _Put it behind you_. I never had to see her again. I'm immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the I-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in San Francisco, close to the campus of SFU. I'm lucky – Maddy's parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It's been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Maddy is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-disc. Hopefully I won't have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

"Spencer! You're back." Maddy sits in our living areas, surrounded by books. She's clearly been studying for finals – though she's still in her pink flannel pyjamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

"I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner."

"Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I wave the mini-disc recorder at her.

"Spencer, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was she like?" oh no – here we go, the Madison Duarte Inquisition.

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

"I'm glad it's over, and I don't have to see her again. She was rather intimidating, you know." I Shrug. "She's very focused, intense even – and young. Really young."

Maddy gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

"Don't you look so innocent. Why didn't you give me a biography? She made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research." Maddy clamps a hand to her mouth.

"Jeeze, Spence, I'm sorry – I didn't think."

I huff.

"Mostly she was courteous, formal, and slightly stuffy – like she's old before her time. She doesn't talk like a woman of twenty-something. How old is she anyway?"

"Twenty-Seven. Jeez, Spence, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, bit I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I'll start transcribing the interview."

"You look better. Did you eat your soup?" I ask, keen to change the subject.

"Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I'm feeling much better." She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch.

"I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's"

"Spencer, you'll be exhausted."

"I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

I've worked at Clayton's since I started at SFU. It's the largest independent hardware store in the San Fran area, and over the four years I've worked here, I've come to know a little bit about most everything we sell – although ironically, I'm crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I'm much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I'm glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn't Ashley Davies. We're busy – it's the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs Clayton is pleased to see me.

"Spencer! I thought you weren't going to make it today."

"My appointment didn't take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours."

"I'm real pleased to see you." She sends me to the storeroom to start restocking shelves, and I'm soon absorbed in the task.

When I arrive home later, Madison is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the gruelling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton's. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven't done today because I was holed up with…._her._

"You've got some good stuff here, Spence. Well don. I can't believe you didn't take her up on her offer to show you around. She obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She give me a fleeting quizzical look.

I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn't the reason, surely? She just wanted to show me around so I could see that she was lady of all she surveyed. I realise I'm biting my lip, and I hope Mady doesn't notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription.

"I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?" She asks.

"Um..no, I didn't"

"That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original stills. Gorgeous bitch isn't she?"

I flush.


	6. Chapter 2 Part 2

50 Shades of Davies – Chapter 2 Part 2

"I suppose so." I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed.

"Oh come on, Spencer – even you can't be immune to her looks" She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.

_Crap! _I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy. "You probably would have got a lot more out of her."

"I doubt that, Spence. Come on – she practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well." She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

"So what did you really think of her?" Damn, she's inquisitive. Why can't she just let this go? _Think of something – quick._

"She's very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination," I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all.

"You! Fascinated by a woman? That's a first," she snorts.

I start gathering the makings of sandwich so she can't see my face.

"Why did you want to know if she was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and she was pissed to be asked too." I scowl at the memory.

"Whenever she's in the society pages, she never has a date."

"Well at least we know she is now. It just was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I'm glad I'll never have to lay eyes on her again."

"Oh, Spence, it can't have been that bad. I think she sounds quite taken with you."

_Taken with me? _Now Madison's being ridiculous.

"Would you like a sandwich?"

"Please."

We talk no more of Ashley Davies that evening, much to my relief. Once we've eaten, I'm able to sit at the dining table with Maddy and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on _Tess of the D'Urbervilles. _Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Maddy has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I've accomplished so much for Monday.

I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother's quilt around me, close my eyes, and I'm instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, white cold floors and brown eyes.

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton's. Maddy is busy too, compiling her last edition of the student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in Ohio to check on her, but also so she can wish me lunch for my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making – my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she's bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It'll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn't mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob – her relatively new but much older husband – is keeping an eye on her now that I'm no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three.

"How are things with you, Spence?" For a moment, I hesitate, and I have mom's full attention.

"I'm fine."

"Spence? Have you met someone?" _Wow… how does she do that? _The excitement in her voice is palpable.

"No, Mom, its nothing. You'll be the first to know if I do."

"Spencer, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me."

"Mom, I'm fine. How's Bob?" As ever, distraction is the best policy.

Later that evening, I call Arthur, my step dad, Mom's Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. In fact, it's no so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Arthur is not a talker. But he's still alive, he's still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he's not. Arthur is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.

Friday night, Maddy and I are debating what to do with our evening - we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers – when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Carmen, clutching a bottle of champagne.

"Carmen! Great to see you!" I give her a quick hug. "Come in."

Carmen is the first person I met when I arrived at SFU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we've been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humour, but we discovered that both Arthur and Carmen's dad were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends, too.

Carmen is studying engineering and is the first of her family to make it to college. She's pretty damn bright, but her real passion is photography. Carmen has a great eye for a good picture.

"I have news." She grins, her dark eyes twinkling.

"Don't tell me – you've managed not to get kicked out for another week," I tease, and she scowls playfully at me.

"The San Fran Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month."

"That's amazing – congratulations!" Delighted for her, I hug her again. Maddy beams at her, too.

"Way to go, Carmen! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She grins.

"Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." Carmen looks intently at me. I flush. "Both of you, of course," She adds, glancing nervously at Madison.

Carmen and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, she'd like to be more. She's cute and funny, but she's not for me. She's more like the sister I never had. Madison often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-girlfriend-gene, but the truth is – I just haven't met anyone who… well, whom I'm attracted to even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights.

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody's even made me feel like that.

_Until very recently_, the unwelcome, still-small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am no going there, not after that painful interview. _Are you gay, Ms. Davies?_ I wince at the memory. I know I've dreamt about her most nights since then, but that's just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely?

I watch Carmen open the bottle of champagne. She's tall, and in her jeans and t-shirt she's all athletic, tanned skin, black hair and blue eyes. Yes, Carmen's pretty hot, but I think she's finally getting the message: we're just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Carmen looks up and smiles.

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselves wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick – the two other part-timers – and I are all rushed off our feet. But there's a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I'm sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I'm engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we've ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and bask as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up… and find myself locked in the bold dark graze of Ashley Davies who's standing at the counter, staring at me intently.

_Heart failure._


	7. Chapter 2 Part 3

50 Shades of Davies – Chapter 2 Part 3

"Miss Carlin. What a pleasant surprise." Her gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy Crap. What the hell is _she_ doing here looking all gorgeous and sexy in her cream top, black skirt and thigh high designer boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can't locate my brain or my voice.

"Ms Davies," I whisper, because that's all I can manage. There's a ghost of a smile on her lips and her eyes are alight with humour, as if she's enjoying some private joke.

"I was in the area," she says by way of explanation. "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Carlin." Her voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel…or something.

I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I'm blushing furiously under her steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of her standing before me. My memories of her did not do her justice. She's not merely gorgeous – she's the epitome of female beauty, breathtaking and she's here. Here in Clayton's Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

"Spencer. My name's Spencer," I mutter. "What can I help you with, Ms Davies?"

She smiles, and again it's like she's privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I've-worked-in-this-shop-for-years façade. _I can do this. _

"There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties," she murmurs, her brown eyes cool but amused.

_Cable ties?_

"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?" I mutter my voice soft and wavering. _Get a grip, Carlin_. A slight frown mars Davies's rather lovely brow.

"Please. Lead the way, Miss Carlin," She says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I'm concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet – my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I'm so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.

"They're in with the electrical goods, aisle eight." My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at her and regret it almost immediately. Damn, she's gorgeous. I blush.

"After you," she murmurs, gesturing with her beautifully manicured hand.

With my heart almost strangling me – because it's in my throat trying to escape from my mouth – I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. _Why is she in San Francisco? Why is she here in Clayton's? _And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain - probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: _She's here to see you_. No Way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane woman want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

"Are you in San Fran on business?" I ask, and my voice is too high, like I've got my finger trapped in a door or something. _Damn! Try to be cool, Spencer!_

"I was visiting the SFU farming division. It's based at the campus. I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science," she says matter-of-factly. _See? Not here to find you at all, _my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts.

"All part of your feed-the-world plan?" I tease.

"Something like that." She acknowledges, and her lips quirk up in a half smile.

She gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton's. What on Earth is she going to do with those? I cannot picture her as a do-it-yourselfer at all. Her fingers trail seductively across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. She bends and selects a packet.

"These will do," she said with her oh-so-secret smile, and I blush.

"Is there anything else?"

"I'd like some masking tape."

_Masking tape?_ "Are you redecorating?" The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires labourers or has staff to help him decorate?

"No, not redecorating," she says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that she's laughing at me.

_Am I that funny? Funny looking?_

"This way," I murmur embarrassed. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle." I glance behind me as she follows.

"Have you worked here long?" Her voice is low, and she's gazing at me, brown eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does she have this effect on? I feel like I'm fourteen years old – gauche, as always, and out of place. _Eyes front, Carlin! _

"Four years," I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.

"I'll take that one," Davies says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to her. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I've touched an exposed wired. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium.

"Anything else?" My voice is husky and breathy. Her eyes widen slightly.

"Some rope, I think." Her voice mirrors mine, husky.

"This way" I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle.

"What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope… twine… cable cord…" I halt at her expression, her eyes darkening. Holy cow.

"I'll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please."

Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that her hot dark gaze is on me. I dare not look at her. Jeez, could I feel any more self-conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from my back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife.

"Were you a Girl Scout?" she asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. _Don't look at her mouth! _

"Organized, group activities aren't really my thing, Miss Davies."

She arches a brow.

"What is your thing, Spencer?" she asks her voice soft and her secret smile is back. I gaze at her unable to express myself. I'm on shifting tectonic plates. _Try and be cool, Spence,_ my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee.

"Book," I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: _You! You are my thing!_ I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station.

"What king of books?" She cocks her head to one side. _Why is she so interested?_

"Oh, you know, the usual, the classics. British literature, mainly."

She rubs her chin with her polished index finger and thumb as she contemplates my answer. Or perhaps she's just very bored and trying to hide it.

"Anything else you need?" I have to get off this subject – those fingers on that face are so beguiling.

"I don't know. What else would you recommend?

What would I recommend? I don't even know what you're doing?

"For a do-it-yourselfer?" She nods, brown eyes alive with wicked humour. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to her short skirt.

"Coveralls," I reply, and I know I'm no longer screening what's coming out of my mouth.

She raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again.

"You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing," I gesture vaguely in the direction of her skirt.

"I could always take them off." She smirks.

"Um." I feel the colour in my cheeks rising again. I must be the colour of the communist manifesto. _Stop talking. Stop talking NOW_.

"I'll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing." She says dryly.

I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of her without jeans.

"Do you need anything else?" I squeak as I hand her the blue coveralls.

She ignored my inquiry.

"How's the article coming along?"

She's finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk… a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if it was a life raft, and I go for honesty.

"I'm not writing it, Madison is. Miss Duarte. My roommate, she's the writer. She's very happy with it. She's the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn't do the interview in person." I feel like I've come up for air – at last a normal topic of conversation. "Her only concern is that she doesn't have any original photographs of you."

Davies raises an eyebrow.

"What sort of photographs does she want?"

Okay. I hadn't factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don't know.

"Well, I'm around. Tomorrow, perhaps…" she trails off.

"You'd be willing to attend a photo shoot?" My voice is squeaky again. Maddy will be in seventh heaving if I can pull this off. _And you might see her again tomorrow,_ that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought – of all the silly, ridiculous…

"Maddy will be delighted – if we can find a photographer." I'm so pleased, I smile at her broadly. Her lips part, like she's taking a sharp intake of breath, and she blinks. For a fraction of a second, she looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.

_Oh my. Ashley Davies' lost look._

"Let me know about tomorrow." Reaching into her handbag, she pulls out her purse. "My Card. It has my cell number on it. You'll need to call before ten in the morning."

"Okay." I grin up at her. Maddy is going to be thrilled.

"SPENCER!"

Paul has materialised at the other end of the aisle. He's Mr. Clayton's youngest brother. I'd heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn't expecting to see him today.

"Er, excuse me for a moment, Ms Davies." Davies frowns as I turn away from her.

Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I'm having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control freak Davies, it's great to talk to someone who's normal. Paul hugs me hard, taking me by surprise.

"Spence, hi, it's so good to see you!" she gushes.

"Hello, Paul, how are you? You home for your brother's birthday?"

"Yep. You're looking well, Spence, really well." He grins, as he examines me at arm's length. The he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It's good to see Paul, but he's always been over-familiar.

When I glance up at Ashley Davies, she's watching us like a hawk, her brown eyes hooded and speculative, her mouth a hard impassive line. She's changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else – someone cold and distant.

"Paul, I'm with a customer. Someone you should me," I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Davies's eyes. I drag Paul over to meet her, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic.

"Er, Paul, this is Ashley Davies. Ms Davies, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place." And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more.

"I've know Paul ever since I've worked here, though we don't see each other that often. He's back from Princeton where's he's studying business administration." I'm babbling…_Stop, Now!_

"Mr. Clayton." Ashley holds her hand out, her look unreadable.

"Ms. Davies," Paul returns her handshake. "Wait up – not the Ashley Davies? of Davies Enterprises Holding?" Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Davies gives him a polite smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"Wow – is there anything I can get you?"

"Spencer has it covered, Mr Clayton. She's been very attentive." Her expression is impassive, but her words…. Its like she's saying something else entirely. It's baffling.

"Cool," Paul responds. "Catch you later, Spence."

"Sure, Paul" I watch him disappear toward the stock room. "Anything else, Ms Davies?"

"Just these items." Her tone is clipped and cool. Damn… have I offended her? Taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. _What is her problem?_

I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till.

"That will be forty-three dollars, please." I glance up at Davies, I wish I hadn't. She's watching me closely, her dark eyes intense and smoky. It's unnerving.

"Would you like a bag?" I ask as I take her credit card.

"Please, Spencer." Her tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic. I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place her purchases in a plastic carrier.

"You'll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?" She's all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back her credit card.

"Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps." She turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh – and Spencer, I'm glad Miss Duarte couldn't do the interview." She smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over her shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which she's just left before I return to planet Earth.

_Okay – I like her_. There, I've admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feeling anymore. I've never felt like this before. I find her attractive, very attractive. But it's a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, her coming here. But still, I can admire her from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Maddy and organise a photo shoot.


	8. Chapter 3 Part 1

**Hi guys just a quick update. Sorry it's not very long, but a longer one will be up tomorrow. I've been really busy lately. Hope your all enjoying.**

**Chapter 3 – Part 1**

Madison is ecstatic.

"But what was she doing at Clayton's?" Her curiosity oozes through the phone. I'm in the depths of the stock room, trying to keep my voice casual.

"She was in the area."

"I think that is one huge coincidence, Spencer. You don't think she was there to see you?" she speculates. My heart lurches at the prospect, but it's a short-lived joy. The dull, disappointing reality is that she was here on business.

"She was visiting the farming division of SFU. She's funding some research," I mutter.

"Oh yes. She's given the department a $2.5 million grant."

_Wow_.

"How do you know this?"

"Spencer, I'm a journalist, and I've written a profile on the girl. It's my job to know this."

"Okay, Carla Bernstein, keep your hair on. So do you want these photos?"

"Of course I do. The question is, who's going to do them and where."

"We could ask her where. She says she's staying in the area."

"You can contact her?"

"I have her cell phone number."

Maddy gasps. "The richest, most elusive, most enigmatic bachlorette in California just gave you her cell phone number?"

"Er…yes."

"Spencer! She likes you. No doubt about it." Her tone is emphatic.

"Maddy, she's just trying to be nice." But even as I say the words, I know they're not true – Ashley Davies doesn't do nice. She does polite, maybe. And a small quiet voice whispers, _perhaps Maddy is right. _My scalp prickles at the idea that maybe, just maybe, she might like me. After all, she did say she was glad Maddy didn't do the interview. I hug myself with quiet glee, rocking from side to side, entertaining the possibility that she might like me for one brief moment. Maddy brings me back to the now.

"I don't know who we'll get to do the shoot. Levi, our regular photographer, can't. He's home in Idaho Falls for the weekend. He'll be pissed that he blew an opportunity to photo one of America's entrepreneurs."

"Hmm… What about Carmen?"

"Great idea! You ask her – she'll do anything for you. Then call Davies and find out where she wants us." Maddy is irritatingly cavalier about Carmen.

"I think you should call her."

"Who, Carmen?" Maddy scoffs.

"No, Davies."

"Spencer, you're the one with the relationship."

"Relationship?" I squeak at her, my voice raising several octaves. "I barely know the girl."

"At least you've met her," she says bitterly.

"And it looks like she wants to know you better. Spencer just call her," she snaps and hangs up. She is so bossy sometimes. I frown at my cell, sticking my tongue out at it.

I'm just leaving a message for Carmen when Paul enters the stock room looking for sandpaper.

"We're kind of busy out there, Spence," he says without acrimony.

"Yeah, um, sorry," I mutter, turning to leave.

"So, how come you know Ashley Davies?" Paul's voice is unconvincingly nonchalant.

"I had to interview her for our student newspaper. Maddy wasn't well." I shrug, trying to sound casual and doing no better than him.

"Ashley Davies in Clayton's. Go figure," Paul snorts, amazed. He shakes his head as if to clear it. "Anyway, want to grab a drink or something this evening?"

Whenever he's home he asks me on a date, and I always say no. It's a ritual. I've never considered it a good idea to date the boss's brother, and besides, Paul is cute in a wholesome all-American boy-next-door kind of way, but he's no literary hero, not by any stretch of the imagination. Is Ashley? My subconscious asks me, her eyebrow figuratively raised. I slap her down.

"Don't you have a family dinner or something for your brother?"

"That's tomorrow."

"Maybe some other time, Paul. I need to study tonight. I have my finals next week."

"Spencer, one of these days you'll say yes," he smiles as I escape out to the store floor.

"But I do places, Spencer, not people," Carmen groans.

"Carmen, please" I beg. Clutching my cell, I pace the living area of our apartment, staring out of the window at the fading evening light.

"Give me that phone." Madison grabs the handset from me, tossing her silken brunette hair over her shoulder.

"Listen here, Carmen Mendez, if you want our newspaper to cover the opening of your show, you'll do this shoot for us tomorrow, capiche?" Maddy can be awesomely tough.

"Good. Spencer will call back with the location and the call time. We'll see you tomorrow." She snaps my cell phone shut.

"Sorted. All we need to do now is decided where and when. Call her." She holds the phone out to me. My stomach twists.

"Call Davies, now!"

I scowl at her and reach into my back pocket for her business card. I take a deep, steadying breath, and with shaking fingers, I dial the number.

She answers on the second ring. Her tone is clipped, calm and cold.

"Davies."

"Err…Ms Davies? It's Spencer Carlin." I don't recognise my own voice, I'm so nervous. There's a brief pause. Inside I'm quaking.

"Miss Carlin. How nice to hear from you." Her voice has changed. She's surprised, I think, and she sounds so… warm – _seductive_ even. My breath hitches, and I flush. I'm suddenly conscious that Madison Duarte is starting at me, her mouth open, and I dart into the kitchen to avoid her unwanted scrutiny.

"Err – we'd like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article." _Breathe, Spencer, breathe. _My lungs drag in a hasty breath. "Tomorrow, if that's okay. Where would be convenient for you, Miss?"

I can almost hear her sphinx-like smile through the phone.

"I'm staying at the Lodge. Shall we say, nine thirty tomorrow morning?"

"Okay, we'll see you there." I am all gushing and breathy – like a child, not a grown woman who can vote and drink legally.

"I look forward to it, Miss Carlin." I visualise the wicked gleam in her dark eyes. _How can she make seven little words hols so much tantalising promise_? I hang up. Maddy is in the kitchen, and she's staring at me with a look of complete and utter consternation on her face.

"Spencer Marie Carlin. You like her! I've never seen or heard you so, so… affected by anyone before. You're actually blushing."

"Oh Maddy, you know I blush all the time. It's an occupational hazard with me. Don't be so ridiculous," I snap. She blinks at me with surprise – I very rarely throw my toys out of the pram – and I briefly relent. "I just find her…. Intimidating, that's all."

"Lodge, that figures," mutters Maddy. "I'll give the manager a call and negotiate space for the shoot."

"I'll make supper. Then I need to study." I cannot hide my irritation with her as I open one of the cupboards to make supper.

I am restless that night, tossing and turning. Dreaming of smoky dark eyes, coveralls, long legs, polished fingers, and dark, dark unexplored places. I wake twice in the night, my heart pounding. _Oh, I'm going to look just great tomorrow with so little sleep,_ I scold myself. I punch my pillow and try to settle.

The Lodge is nestled in the downtown heart of San Francisco. Its impressive brown stone edifice was completed just in time for the crash of the late 1920s. Carmen, Lola and I are travelling in my Beetle, and Maddy is in her CLK, since we can't all fit in my car. Lola is Carmen's friend and gopher, here to help out with the lighting. Maddy has managed to acquire the use of a rook at the Lodge free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. When she explains at reception that we're here to photograph Ashley Davies CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Miss. Davies is already occupying the largest one in the building. An over-keen marketing executing shows us up to the suite – he's terrible young and very nervous for some reason. I suspect Maddy's beauty and commanding manner disarm him, because he's putty in her hands. The rooms are elegant, understated, and opulently furnished.

It's nine. We have half an hour to set up. Maddy is in full flow.

"Carmen, I think we'll shoot against that wall, do you agree?" she doesn't wait for his reply. "Lola, clear the chairs. Spencer, could you ask housekeeping to bring up some refreshments? And let Davies know where we are."

_Yes, Mistress._ She is so domineering. I roll my eyes, but do as I'm told.

Half an hour late, Ashley Davies walks into our suite.


	9. Chapter 3 Part 2

Hi Guys,

Sorry it's taken me waaaayyy too long to get this posted I've had a crazy but good few weeks. I'm already working on the next part... should be up tomorrow night.

Chapter 3 – Part 2

_Holy Crap! _She's wearing a white shirt, open at her ample cleavage, and grey flannel pants that are hanging from her hips in just the right way. Her unruly hair is in loose curls cascading around her beautiful face. My mouth goes dry looking at her… she's so freaking _hot. _Davies is followed into the suite by a man in his mid-thirties, all buzz-cut and stubble in a sharp dark suit and tie who stands silently in the corner. His hazel eyes watch us impassively.

"Miss Carlin, we meet again." Davies extends her perfectly manicured hand, and I shake it, blinking rapidly. Oh my… she really is, quite… wow. As I touch her soft had, I'm aware of that delicious current running right through me, lighting me up, making me blush, and I'm sure my erratic breathing must be audible.

"Miss Davies, this is Madison Duarte," I mutter, waving a hand toward Maddy who comes forward, looking her squarely in the eye.

"The tenacious Miss Duarte. How do you do?" She gives her a small smile, looking genuinely amused. "I trust you're felling better? Spencer said you were unwell last week."

"I'm fine, thank you, Miss Davies." She shakes her hand firmly without battling an eyelid. I remind myself that Maddy has been to the best private schools in L.A. Her family has money, and she's grown up confident and sure of her place in the world. She doesn't take any crap. I am in awe of her.

"Thank you for taking the time to do this." She gives her a polite, professional smile.

"It's a pleasure," she answers, turning her dark gaze on me, and I flush again. Damn it.

"This is Carmen Morales, our photographer," I say, grinning at Carmen who smiles with affection back at me. Her eyes cool when she looks from me to Davies.

"Miss Davies," she nods.

"Miss Morales," Davies's expression changes too as she appraises Carmen.

"Where would you like me?" Davies asks her. Her tone sounds vaguely threatening. But Maddy is not about to let Carmen run the show.

"Miss Davies – if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables. And then we'll do a few standing, too." She directs her to a chair set up against the wall.

Lola switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Davies, and mutters an apology. Then Lola and I stand back and watch as Carmen proceeds to snap away. She takes several photographs hand-held, asking Davies to turn this way, then that, to move her arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, Carmen takes several more, while Davies sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes. My wish has come true: I can stand and admire Davies from no-so-afar. Twice our eyes lock, and I have to tear myself away from her cloudy gaze.

"Enough sitting." Maddy wades in again. "Standing, Miss Davies?" she asks.

She stands, and Lola scurries in to remove the chair. The shutter on Carmen's Nikon starts clicking again.

"I think we have enough," Carmen announces five minutes later.

"Great," says Maddy. "Thank you again Miss Davies." She shakes her hand as does Carmen.

"I look forward to reading the article, Miss Duarte," murmurs Davies, and turns to me, standing by the door. "Will you walk with me, Miss Carlin? She asks.

"Sure," I say, completely through. I glance anxiously at Maddy, who shrugs at me. I notice Carmen scowling behind her.

"Pleasure to meet you all," Says Davies as she opens the door, standing aside to allow me out first.

_Holy hell… what's this about? What does she want?_

I pause in the hotel corridor, fidgeting nervously as Davies emerges from the room followed by Mr. Buzz-Cut in his sharp suit.

"I'll call you, Taylor," she murmurs to Buzz-Cut. Taylor wanders back down to the corridor, and Davies turns her burning dark gaze to me. _Crap…have I done something wrong?_

"I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning."

My heart slams into my mouth. A date? _Ashley Davies is asking me on a date_. She's asking if you want a coffee. _Maybe she thinks you haven't woken up yet_, my subconscious whines at me in a sneering mood again. I clear my throat, trying to control my nerves.

"I have to drive everyone home," I murmur apologetically, twisting my hands and fingers in front of me.

"TAYLOR," she calls, making me jump. Taylor, who had been retreating down the corridor, turns and heads back towards us.

"Are they based at the university?" Davies asks, her voice soft and inquiring. I nod, too stunned to speak.

"Taylor can take them. He's my driver. We have a large 4x4 here, so he'll be able to take the equipment, too."

"Miss Davies?" Taylor asks when he reaches us, giving nothing away.

"Please, can you drive the photographer, her assistant and Miss Duarte back home?"

"Certainly, Miss," Taylor replies.

"There. Now can you join me for coffee?" Davies smiles as if it's a done deal.

I frown at her.

"Um- Miss Davies, err – this really… look, Taylor doesn't have to drive them home." I flash a brief look at Taylor, who remains stoically impassive. "I'll swap vehicles with Maddy, if you give me a moment."

Davies smiles a dazzling, unguarded, natural all-teeth-showing, nose crinkling, glorious smile. _Oh my… _and she opens the door of the suite so I can reenter. I scoot around her to enter the room, finding Madison deep in discussion with Carmen.

"Spencer, I think she definitely likes you," she says with no preamble whatsoever. Carmen glares at me with disapproval. "But I don't trust her." She adds. I raise my hand up in the hope that she'll stop talking. By some miracle, she does.

"Maddy, if you take the Beetle, can I take you car?"

"Why?"

"Ashley Davies has asked me to go for coffee with her."

Her mouth drops open. Speechless Maddy! I savour the moment. She grabs me by the arm and drags me into the bedroom that's off the living area of the suite.

"Spencer, there's something about her." Her tone is full of warning. "She's gorgeous, I agree, but I think she's dangerous. Especially to someone like you."

"What do you mean, someone like me?" I demand, affronted.

"An innocent like you, Spence. You know what I mean," she says a little irritated. I flush.

"Maddy, it's just coffee. I'm starting my exams this week, and I need to study, so I won't be long."

She purses her lips as if considering my request. Finally, she fishes her car keys out of her pocket and hands them to me. I hand her mine.

"I'll see you later. Don't be long, or I'll send out search and rescue."

"Thanks" I hug her.

I emerge from the suite to find Ashley Davies waiting, leaning up against the wall looking like a female model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine.

"Okay, let's do coffee," I murmur, flushing a beet red.

She grins.

"After you, Miss Carlin." She stands up straight, holding her hand our for me to go first. I make my way down the corridor, my knees shaky, my stomach full of butterflies, and my heart in my mouth thumping a dramatic uneven beat. _I am going to have coffee with Ashley Davies… and I hate coffee._

We walk together down the wide hotel corridor to the elevators. _What should I say to her? _My mind is suddenly paralyzed with apprehension. What are we going to talk about? What on Earth do I have in common with her? Her soft, warm voice startles me from my reverie.

"How long have you know Madison Duarte?"

Oh, an easy question for starters.

"Since our freshman year. She's a good friend."

"Hmm," she replies, noncommittal. What is she thinking?

At the elevators, she presses the call button, and the bell rings almost immediately. The doors slide open revealing a young couple in a passionate clinch inside. Surprised and embarrassed, they jump apart, staring guiltily in every direction but ours. Davies and I step into the elevator.

I am struggling to maintain a straight face, so I gaze down at the floor, feeling my cheeks turning pink. When I peek up at Davies through my lashes, she has a hint of a smile on her lips, but it's very hard to tell. The young couple says nothing, and we travel down to the first floor in embarrassed silence. We don't even have trashy piped music to distract us.

The doors open and, much to my surprise, Davies takes my hand, clasping it with her cool polished fingers. I feel the current run through me, and my already rapid heartbeat accelerates. As she leads me out of the elevator, we can hear the suppressed giggles of the couple erupting behind us. Davies grins.

"What is it about elevators?" She mutters.

We cross the expansive, bustling lobby of the hotel toward the entrance but Davies avoids the revolving door, and I wonder if that's because she'd have to let go of my hand.

Outside, it's a milk May Sunday. The sun is shining and the traffic is light. Davies turns left and strolls to the corner, where we stop waiting for the lights of the pedestrian crossing to change. She's holding my hand. _I'm in the street, and Ashley Davies is holding my hand. _No one has ever held my hand. I feel giddy, and I tingle all over. I attempt to smother the ridiculous grin that, threatens to split my face in two. _Try to be cool, Spence, my subconscious implores me. The green man appears, and we're off again._

We walk four blocks before we reach the L.A Coffee House, where Davies releases me to hold the door open so I can step inside.

"Why don't you choose a table while I get the drinks? What would you like?" She asks, polite as ever.

"I'll have… um – English Breakfast tea, bag out." She raises her eyebrows.

"No Coffee?"

"I'm not keen on coffee." She smiles.

"Okay, bag out tea. Sugar?"

For a moment, I'm stunned, thinking it's an endearment, but fortunately my subconscious kicks in with pursued lips. _No stupid – do you take sugar?_

"No thanks." I stare down at my knotted fingers.

"Anything to eat?"

"No thank you." I shake my head, and she heads to the counter.

I surreptitiously gaze at her from beneath my lashes as she stands in line waiting to be served. I could watch her all day… she's petite but not too small, slim and athletic but still supple and oh my god she gorgeous, those lips and eyes, and the way those pants hang from her hips…._Oh my._Once or twice she runs her polished graceful fingers through her perfectly tousled hair. Hmm… I'd like to do that. The thought comes unbidden into my mind, and my face flames. I bite my lip and stare down at my hands again, not liking where my wayward thoughts are headed.


End file.
